


I Am Yours

by sasha_b



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-18
Updated: 2012-02-18
Packaged: 2017-10-31 08:46:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/342150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sasha_b/pseuds/sasha_b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rick and Shane and a kiss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Am Yours

**Author's Note:**

> Written for TWD Kinkmeme on Livejournal. Spoilers up through season two episode four, Cherokee Rose.

It's dark and wet outside and Shane leans against the truck he's driven back from the High School. His head is cold - fucking no hair, weird and bald and he _deserves_ the difference and the exposure - and it's past midnight and he's still up and can't shut himself down. Can't stop thinking about what he's done, what he's sacrificed, and he watches the sky and his brain rumbles _Otis_ and how in the _shit_ is he going to reconcile this.

He's not sorry. He's never sorry.

The shower hadn't helped, the drink he'd found hadn't helped, the self flagellation he'd been running over and over hadn't done much save to make him angrier and drunker and he leans over and breathes deeply, the night air thick and cloying.

"What're you doing?"

"Fuck, Rick," he spouts, jumpy, then lowers his voice. "Fuck, man."

He fingers the gun at his back as he straightens and doesn't do anything but back up against the truck when Rick approaches and puts himself in Shane's space. The other man is ghost white and wavering and Shane feels that ever present guilt, a hammer in his veins, pounding, thrumming through his entire _life_ and he opens his mouth to speak but Rick grabs his face and their foreheads are mushed together and Shane can't figure out what to do with his hands. 

Rick's eyes are closed, and he's murmuring something that Shane finally can hear 

"Thank you."

"He's gonna be alright? You sure?"

"Hershel's sure," Rick whispers. Shane doesn't know if the other man is trying for privacy or just doesn't want to wake anyone up, but he doesn't care, as it's been a long, dead lifetime since he's been touched by Rick and he smiles (he loves Carl, loves him because he's Carl and because he's Rick and Lori too) and raises his hands to grip Rick's shoulders and he brushes closer with the motion and Rick's mouth is on his.

He jerks.

His eyes open and he stares with a brown glassy slightly too-drunk gaze into the blue of Rick's eyes, their lips separating briefly as Shane says something smart along the lines of _whu_ and Rick kisses him again.

It's not tender or like a girl.

It's a gift to him, reminding him he's not the odd man out, not the third wheel he always lives like he is, not alone in this world he's built for. Shane's hands slide along Rick's shoulders until he's gripping Rick's elbows, the hands around his stubbled face burning and familiar and he can't help the weird grin that etches itself onto his lips.

"Brother," he says, a soft murmur that is as loud as a gunshot in his ears - and Rick is gone suddenly, hands and mouth and the warmth that Shane sometimes imagines and jerks off to (fuck that, it's just the closeness he misses; he'd never admit it) gone. He stumbles a few steps forward away from the truck, the alcohol burning in his blood, his vision a bit spotty, and Rick's back is to him, the sliver of moon lighting the yard in fits and starts.

"Thank you," Rick says again, and steps slowly up the steps to the porch, his normally strong posture slumped and tired and the door swings shut behind him and Shane wipes a hand over his mouth twice, a third time. He snorts and tilts his head back to the black sky, hands on his tapered hips, cheek burned from stubble and he laughs, quietly, loopy and slow.


End file.
